The New Guard
by LittlestShadow
Summary: Faced with a hopeless hostage situation, Mustang is presented with a new crop of young Alchemists- a shadow of the past among them- but fate forces his hand and he must play with the cards he is dealt. Roughly seventeen years post-Promised Day.


There was no way everyone was going to get out alive.

No, it was more grim even than that- there was no way that all those _who'd managed to survive thus far_ were going to get out alive.

General Mustang exhaled a deep breath through his nose. Fighting the urge to close his eyes and lean his head against his knuckles, he instead glared death at the reports and scattered pictures on the desk in front of him.

Riza stood several steps to his right, stoic as usual, a calm and familiar face among the milling gaggle of his underlings. She was the only one of his usual entourage present, and here he was with a crisis on his hands in an unfamiliar city. He counted his blessings that it was large enough to have a capable standing force.

The boy who stood at attention before him was part of that force, young enough that Roy may not have taken him seriously had he not skimmed the lad's credentials and personally observed the results of his handiwork. He'd an athletic but not overly robust build, round but set green eyes that stared past the General respectfully, and brown hair just grown out of the typical military cut. The young man belonged to one of a smattering of small units pioneering advanced skills. He happened to have a focus on crisis negotiating- and was the only reason why any of the hostages were alive.

"And you can't talk them down?" Roy asked again, just to make sure.

"No, sir." The lad's face pinched imperceptibly, but he remained prim. "At this point I have no reason to believe they will ever agree to lay down arms. They're far too convinced that they have no other options. They are still trying to win."

The general cocked an eyebrow. "Do you think they can?"

"No, sir. They're in a prolonged hostage situation. They've already lost, they just haven't realized it yet."

Mustang flicked his gaze to two waiting attendants. "You've found every plan you can on that hotel and the surrounding buildings?"

"Yes, sir!"

"The northern half of the city is built directly onto bedrock, is it not? If there are any old tunnels nearby, find them."

The two scurried off with hurried salutes.

His makeshift center of command was still full of people darting this way and that, working telephones, gathering information and keeping lines of communication open, but when Riza and the young private were the only ones within earshot he allowed himself a small sigh. "This is going to be a bloodbath."

Still, there was no time for that- not before it was all decided. "Private Jerhoff. How much time can you buy me?"

The young man had loosened up, sympathizing with his pain, but answered directly. "It depends on how much risk you want to take. The odds of someone doing something rash will go up exponentially with time. What do you want to aim for?"

The kid's gears were turning, Mustang could fairy see it. He was sure the young man was thinking several moves ahead in numerous potential situations, chewing them all over and weighing them out. He'd have to keep an eye on this one's career, but, in the meantime, the lad needed all the information he could get to live up to his potential.

"I can't send a unit in, the hostiles have split up the hostages." Mustang explained. "If we retake one group, the others will be forfeit. A classic raid is out."

The boy nodded and Lt. Hawkeye filled in the rest. "The local State Alchemist does not believe he can contribute to our efforts, so I have contacted the alchemist Alphonse Elric for assistance."

"Though his brother will probably turn up too, if he's anywhere on this half of the continent…" Mustang added under his breath.

Jerhoff's expression darkened. "Resembool is more than twelve hours away by train…"

The General was not surprised. Even almost twenty years after the reorganization of the government, and despite the fact that he had never been a State Alchemist, Alphonse was still well known in many circles. "Al was on the road, and should be able to get here in less than ten."

"Still…" Young private Jerhoff cast a distressed look in the general direction of the hotel where the hostages were being held. "… less than optimal…" he mumbled.

"We have few choices."

"Mm hmm…" The young man hummed in acknowledgement, eyes still distant.

"Unless you have another idea, Private?"

"Oh, uh…" Jerhoff shifted his weight. "Well. It's just that-"

"Private Jerhoff." Mustang interrupted, voice sharp with the force of his command. "I make a point of having all potential opportunities accounted for, and all assets available at all times. If you have an idea, make it known."

The young soldier snapped to attention again without hesitation, but his eyes were still uncertain. "Sir! It's that- The standing State Alchemist is not the only one here. Two friends of mine are in town right now, and they got their certifications a few months ago…"

General Mustang couldn't keep one eyebrow from ticking up, but he voiced no other doubts. Even if they were no older that the private, he had, after all, seen much younger do much more. He held his laced fingers in front of his mouth. Waiting on Alphonse was a long shot, at best. Hostage situations tended not to last that long, particularly when they were this charged. This was, indeed, shaping up to be the most viable, if not the _only_ viable option.

He nodded. "Who are your friends? We should call them in, at the very least."

"Sir, the Stonewall Alchemist, Trista Mason,"

He'd heard of her and approved- her title was well earned from her fearless refusal to buckle under pressure- but here Mustang could have sworn there was a minute pause, as if of hesitation. Even later, in hindsight, he could not tell if he had imagined it.

"… and the Glare Alchemist, Selim Dunkel."

Mustang had heard of him, too.

Of course, there was always a catch. He didn't have to look over to see that Riza had gone ridged, he knew her far too well for that. He shut his eyes and contained a sigh.

There was a heavy pause that Jerhoff did not question or press.

"Are they close by?"

"I am sure they are not far-"

"Who's not far?" A new voice chimed.

Mustang moved only his eyes up as a young woman strode through the door. She'd swarthy skin, kinky-curly hair pulled back into a tight pony tail and an open, self-assured, bordering on careless stance that _screamed_ 'State Alchemist'. Despite her oh so familiar demeanor, it was the young man that walked in her shadow who demanded his attention.

Shorter than his companions, but not notably so- his build was lanky but lithe, posture cool and submissive, but dark eyes sharp. Black hair dusted his forehead, half concealing two perfect concentric rings there. A target-shaped mark. It had greyed and faded slightly since Mustang had last seen him, like a healing scar, but the boy would have been unmistakable even without it. His _eyes_- passive though they were now- could not be forgotten.

"Did ya ask him yet, Sepp?" The girl grinned and took a wide stance next to the young private, hands planted on her hips.

"He has indeed." Mustang spoke into his hands, taking in each of the youths in turn, trying not to linger on the dark-haired boy.

He was calm and collected- no outward evidence of nerves. There were few alternatives, after all. He knew his Lieutenant would follow his lead.

"Trista Mason." He began. The girl did not snap to attention, but clasped her hands behind her back and stiffened in acknowledgement. "The Stonewall Alchemist. Specializes in manipulation of solids, excels in defensive maneuvers and tactics. Reputedly flippant, bull-headed, stubborn, and in the habit of disobeying orders, often to the benefit of her allies. Is that you?"

"Yes, sir."

The General did not give her a chance to continue. His gaze snapped to the third youth, who returned it with no hint of emotion on his features.

"Selim… Dunkel. The Glare Alchemist." The boy also clasped his hands and broke eye contact respectfully. Mustang couldn't help but pause before he continued. "Specializes in creation and manipulation of light, excels in stealth tactics. Capable of great obstinance, even while obeying orders. Does that about cover it?"

"Yes, sir." His voice was soft, but had gotten deeper with age.

It was one voice, though, and lacked even the barest hint of menace or ominous resonance. Despite the shiver of recollection it had brought on, Roy was oddly reassured.

"And you three think that I should send you in alone against an unknown number of hostiles, who have already killed both civilians and soldiers, when there are almost one hundred hostages at stake?"

"Yes, sir." The three replied in unison.

The General let his eyes slide shut for a moment.

"Honestly, sir," The Stonewall Alchemist spoke into the silence with a smile that, Roy suspected, was much more reserved than her usual. "It would have been some form of torture to watch you take a swing at them without at least making ourselves known. To kick back and watch your foot soldiers run into that rat trap without a word? Why, my pride wouldn't allow it."

The girl was either an innocent, unknowing victim of some serious dramatic irony- or she had a poor sense of humor and poorer judgment.

Private Jerhoff winced and Selim rolled his eyes to the heavens. Under the circumstances, both responses were consistent with a friend speaking casually to a superior officer.

"We had to at least offer, sir." Jerhoff added as a thinly veiled apology. "We mean no trouble by it."

"Are you an alchemist, Private?"

The boy startled. "Y-yes, sir. Not certified or anything, but I am proficient."

"You think you will be up to this task?"

"I think it's our best chance, sir. Ten hours…" He gave a short, sharp shake of his head, as if he didn't want to think about it. "But I can all but guarantee an hour or two with no risk. We've… gotten ourselves out of some sticky situations before, sir. If the three of us go in by ourselves…"

"Mason, it's fair to say I know where you stand, but you… Dunkel." He allowed himself to focus on the dark-haired boy, and took note of what could have been a flinch under his scrutiny. "What do you think?"

There was a pause. Selim raised his eyes to meet Mustang's, and the latter had the distinct feeling that the lad was taking his measure.

"Joseph knows what he is talking about," Selim answered slowly. "I trust his conclusions about the situation are correct. Your alchemist is too far away to be anything more than a last-ditch fallback; by the time he gets here he'll be on damage control, at best. You cannot send in your own forces without expecting anything but a slaughter. So. It seems to me that any alternative is a good one at this point."

"That sums it up nicely." Mustang's voice was flat. Accompanied by his narrowing eyes, his words could not be mistaken for anything but a challenge. "But _do you think it is the correct thing to do?_"

"Doesn't matter." Selim's statement was unflinching. "It is the only thing we can do, so we'll have to work with it. But," his posture relaxed somewhat, and he circled away from the General's bait. "With the three of us, the odds are… not bad at all."

A small smile slipped across the young man's face. It set off _all_ of Roy's alarm bells, but Mason and Jerhoff wore similar expressions of subdued confidence. It was nothing more than assurance in their abilities, he reasoned with himself, and wry acknowledgement of their own willingness to take a dangerous situation head on. Not at all out of line.

"I'm waiting for a couple more reports to come in." The General's words were heavy. "We'll see how it develops, but I want the three of you ready to make your move inside ten minutes. Meet me in the plaza then. Dismissed."

All three saluted and turned without another word, but Mason and Jerhoff hadn't taken three steps before they pulled ahead. The two were containing their laughter and trying to elbow one another out of the way by the time they reached the door. Selim loped easily after them, just far enough behind that he was not drawn into their antics, but he was alone when he hit the threshold as his friends darted away down the hall.

Mustang could not stop himself.

"Selim."

The young man stalled and turned back, surprise evident on his face. A commanding officer _had_ just addressed him by his first name, out of the blue. It was not the customary etiquette. Though he had tried, Mustang could not bring himself to use the proper farce that was 'Dunkel'.

But what, exactly, had he planned to say? Instead of rushing to fill the pause, the General kept his peace and sized up the young man in the doorway.

Selim did not move to leave, but adopted a vaguely defensive stance with his weight balanced on the balls of his feet. It was the same posture Mustang had seen the boy take more than once in his youth, whenever he was exposed to the scrutiny of those who knew enough to weigh him as a threat. Even if he did not remember or understand, he had always been sharp. It was clear that those ominous looks had never fallen on an oblivious subject.

The General consciously backed off. The last thing he needed was to identify himself with people that the young man may well have, rightly and innocently, come to regard as threatening.

"I shouldn't be sending you out there." Roy stated, almost to himself. _He_ meant Selim, but there was no reason for anyone else to think he wasn't referring the three friends as a group.

The young man's brows knitted, scrunching the mark on his forehead, and his mouth twisted. His conflict was evident. Perhaps he guessed more from the comment than he should have.

Before Mustang could backtrack or dismiss him, the young alchemist seemed to come to a decision. He strode back to the desk with silent steps, but stopped when he was just close enough to be heard by the General without drawing the attention of the attendants that still ducked in and out of the room. His shadowed, searching eyes remained on Mustang the whole time.

If he noticed Hawkeye's hand slide toward her sidearm, he did not react.

"General Mustang," Selim began, his words careful. "I do not pretend to have all of the answers. You are experienced and trusted, not to mention ranking. What caution you exercise, I doubt very much is baseless. I would follow your lead, sir, even if I were not bound by the oaths of a State Alchemist. I hope that eases your apprehension about this decision."

There was no reason for anyone else to think he wasn't reassuring an unfamiliar commanding officer of his loyalty- but what, exactly, was Mustang supposed to take away from that?

The young man did not wait to be dismissed but slipped away again, as quiet as he had come, with no discrepancy in his body language to suggest he meant anything other than exactly what he had said.

Roy felt some of his tension bleed away to be replaced with mild curiosity. He straightened to watch the dark-haired boy leave, and let his hands fall to his desk. Similar confusion emanated from his Lieutenant. Whatever that had been, it was certainly not what he had expected. And if he just let sleeping dogs lie, it was a tossup as to whether or not he'd _ever_ know what had just passed.

"And what about the situation outside?" Mustang allowed his typical, dismissive drone to edge back into his voice. "Sending a bunch of kids in to solve my problems for me? Some would think it irresponsible. Others may think I'm losing my touch."

Selim paused, fully out of the room but with one hand on the doorframe. He cast a glance over his shoulder, impassive but for the faint quirk of one eyebrow. "Our qualifications have been recognized by the very government you serve, General. If you are truly concerned about losing face because you let your juniors do what they do best, then I can only implore that you strive to act as responsibly as is possible, independent of the petty opinions of your peers. I trust you will do the right thing, as you have done in the past. Even if it means swallowing your pride."

And the dark-eyed boy was gone.

Mustang's distant gaze lingered on the doorway for some moments thereafter. He leaned back into his chair slowly, by degrees. Only when he had sunk fully into it and pressed the tips of his fingers together did he glance up at his Lieutenant. Riza seemed as lost as he. She turned him and started to speak, then stopped and looked to the doorway again, slack jawed. Under most any other circumstance the sight would have made him laugh, but his eyes caught on the movement behind her- attendants still rushing about, doing their best to make better a bleak situation. Several now waited on him.

Fortunately, he was long used to risks and snap decisions.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye."

Riza snapped to attention.

"Your choice of vantage point, your choice of weapon. I'm about to send these kids into the closest I hope they ever see to a warzone- I want to be just as ready to get them out again."

"Yes, sir." No hesitation.

She harbored no doubts.

"Dismissed."

* * *

**I'm new to this fan fiction game, and not entirely sure if I'll make a habit of it. I've been toying with writing more of this- not turning it into a full-blown fic, more like adding companion one-shots in the same arc. Probably from Selim's POV elaborating on his situation. If anyone would be interested in such a thing, let me know.**

**Reviews always welcome- constructive crit. greatly appreciated.**


End file.
